


Intimacies

by scarletjedi



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Everybody Lives, Happy Birthday Koorii!, M/M, Slice of Life, frank discussions of sex, implications of future sexytimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 17:25:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10518396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletjedi/pseuds/scarletjedi
Summary: A quiet moment in Erebor.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kooriicolada (WHM_Koorii)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WHM_Koorii/gifts).



> a small slice of life in Erebor, based on Kooriicolada's art [Here](http://grizzlyhorns.tumblr.com/image/150940837884)
> 
> Happy Birthday Koorii!

Gandalf left Erebor’s throne room in a huff. If he had been able to see the outcome of his machinations, he would have rever selected ‘Bilbo Baggins’ for this quest!

Or, at least, he would have insisted on a chaperone! 

***

Bilbo giggled as he leaned back against the arm of the throne, eating a bite of cake with a satisfied hum. 

“You musn’t tease him so,” Thorin murmured fondly, looking up and back from where he sat on the floor the foot of the throne. (There was a time when Thorin’s pride would never have let him settle thus--he was a king, and a king did not sit before his own throne. Yet--most kings never faced the trials he had faced, fought the battles he had fought. Dain had put it best, slapping him upside the head as if they were still dwarflings--what’s the point of being king if you can’t fuck with propriety now and again.)

(Of course, Dain also remembered a time before, when Thorin would have thought as such himself, before the dragon and the gold and the long, long years in the wilderness). 

Bilbo looked down at Thorin, slightly affronted, and Thorin felt a rush of affection at the way Bilbo’s brow furrowed, his mouth twisted, and his nose scrunched. “He brings it on himself, you know, the old meddler. Does him good to have a challenge now and then--remind him not to treat people as chess pieces.”

Thorin hummed, closing his eyes. “Oh, I’m sure he’s learned not to mess with hobbits by now, my love.” 

Bilbo snorted, balancing his plate of cake on his knee and picking up his book again. Ori had done wonders in leading the excavation of the library, with help from Bofur when it turned to literal excavation. It had eased something sharp in Thorin’s chest when he realized that not all of their writings were lost--that many had, in fact, been saved by the collapse at the doors, as the dragon-fire could not burn them. It was Ori who had given Bilbo the book as a wedding present--Thorin had recognized the book as a collection of tales for dwarflings, and had explained as such to Bilbo. Bilbo’s delight, and cry of “oh, _fairy tales!_ how lovely!” had done much to further endear Ori to Thorin. 

So had Bilbo’s expression when he realized that the book was in khudzul, and the implications of the gift. (Bilbo’s fingers resting gently against the cover as he realized that he was one of _them_ now, chosen and wanted, had led Thorin to kiss both hands, both eyes, and press their foreheads together, gently).That was months ago, now, and Bilbo was already reading the book with deliberate delight--perhaps it was the interruption of his reading that had been the first strike against Gandalf.

“Hardly,” Bilbo muttered, and Thorin heard the sound of fingers running down a page as Bilbo smoothed his hand over the parchment. “I know his type--he may have started to learn to be more respectful of _Bilbo Baggins,_ but it’s not beyond him to simply go and find another poor hobbit to direct about, getting the poor fool so turned around they think it’s their idea.” Bilbo shook his head, the beads in his hair softly bouncing. “I have half a mind to write and warn my relations, but knowing the Tooks they’d simply seek him out.” 

Thorin chuckled. “Well, I, for one, am thankful he meddled, else my days would still be spent scraping together ever more meager livings in the Blue Mountains, watching my people suffer and wither, and I would not have you, _âzyungel._ ” 

Bilbo flushed. “Yes, well. _Obviously_.” He spluttered a bit, and Thorin grinned, lowering head head once more to gaze in affection at the band of silver he wore around his heart-finger--a marriage band. _His_ marraige band to this delightful creature that was currently lounging on Thror’s throne without a single thought towards power or money or the politics of state. Bilbo’s casual disregard for the circumstance of Thorin’s office was good for Thorin--kept him grounded _here_ and _now_ , and if he could, Thorin would shower Bilbo with all of his affections for all his court to see--but he gladly settled for teasing Bilbo in private, for his husband was still unused to such honest and open declarations of affection. Hobbits tended to keep their courting away from the public eye, especially (Bilbo had been sure to press) when between “two gents, such as ourselves.” 

In fact, if not for the way Bilbo had been when Thorin lay, wounded and near death atop Ravenhill, propriety long since forgotten as he declared his love through his tears, begging Thorin to return to him (and return he did; Thorin could deny Bilbo nothing), Thorin would never know the true extent of Bilbo’s feelings. He would have continued on in ignorance, aching with it for the rest of his days. (In truth, his days may have not been so long, for he had wondered if he would have fought for life so hard had Bilbo not been there, waiting). 

But Bilbo _had_ taken that first step, and Thorin had rejoiced, delighting in the way Bilbo had stayed by his side through his long convalescence, nattering like a mother hen--

Or the way Bilbo blossomed like sweet jasmine in private, open and delicate and roused to such passions--

Passions that Thorin was growing more and more skilled at drawing out _outside_ of their bedroom, easing back Bilbo’s hobbitish modesty and reserve.

Bilbo placed the cake down with a click of delicate porcelain against precious stone, the weight of it saying the cake was still only half-eaten. (Yet another thing that was decidedly un-hobbitish about Bilbo now--he had developed a patience with food that Thorin had never seen in him before. There was no doubt that Bilbo could eat _more _in one sitting that an average dwarf, but never with the swiftness of meals on the Quest. At first, Thorin had put it down to a level of comfort--Bilbo was no longer unsure of when his next meal would come, and ate regularly. Thorin wondered if this was how Bilbo had eaten at home, or was this yet another casualty of their adventure?)__

__Or was this simply another case of Bilbo’s interest in story surpassing even his interest in food? Thorin remembered even in Rivendell, as half-starved as they were when they had arrived, Bilbo had been late to more than one meal because he had been exploring Elrond’s library._ _

__“You’re thinking too much,” Bilbo said, tapping the top of Thorin’s head. Thorin tilted his head back again, humming non-committally and lifting his chin. Bilbo sighed in amused frustration, and reached himself over to kiss Thorin’s mouth--quickly but soundly, no innocent peck between mates, this._ _

__“You could always distract me,” Thorin said, his voice low and heavy with his desire._ _

__Bilbo shivered, and Thorin felt his pulse quicken with hope. It had been weeks since Thorin had whispered into his husband’s ear that he had been having love-deams of Bilbo, spread out across this very throne, flushed and aching with lust. “I would have you thus,” Thorin had said, cock full and aching as he pressed against his love, his lips teasing at the delicate point of Bilbo’s ear. Bilbo had shuddered, nearly violently, and dragged Thorin to their bedchambers with surprising strength._ _

__He had yet, however, to agree to fulfilling Thorin’s desire. Thorin would not push, but he could suggest, and imply, and hope. Perhaps one day..._ _

__Perhaps today?_ _

__Dwarves had a different brand of modesty to Hobbits, after all. Dwarves covered themselves above-ground when they could for their skin was sensitive to the light and prone to burning. They wore their armor for they were always ready to defend, and they wore their tunics for their weave and pattern told the tale of their lives--their names and their ranks and their masteries._ _

__Their skin was inked the same--some markings worn proudly for all, such as the warriors ink worn by Dwalin and by Thorin’s father. Most, however, was for family, or a lover, or the khudz’s eyes alone._ _

__But the rules were different in their mountains, and no dwarf would shy from their passions, be it craftwork or lover. Bilbo was Thorin’s One--no dwarf would bat an eye if they saw Thorin and Bilbo in a lover’s embrace--they would be happy, perhaps cheer, and leave them to it._ _

__It had quite startled Bilbo when Gloin’s lovely wife had arrived with the caravan, and Gloin had begun their joyus reunion right there in the Great Hall. (Oin had sent them happily on their way, and their children--Gimli and Gimrís--deftly steered Bilbo away, to give their parents time alone)._ _

__Now, Thorin thought that Bilbo wouldn’t be so quick to run. The desire in Bilbo’s gaze was louder every day. _Soon_ Thorin thought. _ _

__“Naughty,” Bilbo drawled, his voice holding promise of _later,_ and Thorin grinned back at him. “I know what you’re doing.” _ _

__“I hope so,” Thorin said. “Otherwise, it’s been for naught.”_ _

__“Cheeky,” Bilbo said, but his voice shook, just a little. “Let me read to you? I need to practice my pronunciation.”_ _

__Listen as Bilbo’s beloved voice spoke the secret language of their people? An intimacy that Thorin cherished. “Whatever you wish, _âzyungel._ ” _ _

__Bilbo leaned in, against Thorin’s shoulder, holding the book in one hand, and began to read. His accent was nearly Broadbeam, certainly not the burr of the Firebeards or the clipped tones of the Longbeards, but it suited Bilbo all the same. The cadence of his voice was soothing, though it did little to cool Thorin’s ardor--turning instead from a forge-fire to a slow-ember burn. Later, Thorin promised himself, he would spread Bilbo out upon their bed, tease him and draw out his pleasure the way Thorin’s was now, listen to that voice cry out a different, more intimate vocabulary._ _

__For now, though, Thorin lay his head back, and watched his husband read--taking in Bilbo’s obvious delight, and falling ever more deeply in love._ _


End file.
